


Harry's Familiar

by all_not_well



Series: Harry's Bitch [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality (Implied), F/M, Humiliation, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_not_well/pseuds/all_not_well
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny couldn't understand Harry's obsession with the mutt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry's Familiar

Ginny couldn't understand Harry's obsession with the mutt. She _hated_ that damned dog. Harry hadn't been the same since he brought it home, less than a week after Ron died, as if Ron's friendship could somehow be replaced with the simple loyalty of a dumb animal - even if it _was_ a familiar. Now it was always "Fluffy this" and "Fluffy that": endless training and long walks; hours in the park spent throwing sticks just to watch the dog chase after them; and disappearing who-knew-where so that Harry could spend time "bonding with his familiar", whatever _that_ meant. Harry spent more time with the mutt than he did with his own wife and boys. And he refused to see that he needed to change that, no matter how often she tried to talk to him about it.

It wasn't even a _nice_ mutt. Oh, sure, it was pretty enough, for a dog, but it was the most aggravating beast Ginny had ever had the misfortune to encounter. It howled and whined and barked incessantly, ceasing only on command - mostly Harry's of course, and occasionally Al's, but never hers or Jamie's. It followed Harry everywhere with slavish, creepy devotion, never taking its eyes off Harry's face if it could help it, even when Harry locked the damn thing in its crate. It drooled copiously and shed fine golden hairs on everything, leaving Ginny to run around in its wake with her wand in hand and a cleaning spell on her lips.

And it was disgustingly fond of the ratty, filthy old Muggle beanbag chair that Harry kept for it. Right in the drawing room, no less, where anyone could walk in and see it doggedly humping away with so much enthusiasm, whimpering and growling for all it was worth.

"Oh, bloody hell, Harry," Ginny snapped as she came into the room, yet again, to find the dog happily going at it in front of the fireplace while Harry was immersed in a novel. "Make the damn thing stop, already. I've asked you time and again not to let it do that."

"Hmm?" Harry glanced up at her, then strangely enough paused to check his watch, though she knew he had nowhere in particular to be that day. "What's that, love?" Harry said, finally deigning to focus his attention on Ginny.

"Your damned dog," Ginny reminded him, waving a hand at the beast. It was snarling now, its lips curled back to show its sharp white teeth, its hips pistoning frantically against the beanbag - almost as if it understood that her presence meant its fun was nearly at an end. "You need to make it stop. I won't have that behavior in my house, I'm telling you. What if one of the kids walked in just now and saw it?"

Harry sighed and marked his page in the novel, setting it aside. "He has urges, love, and it's all perfectly natural. It's not as if he can help it."

" _You_ could help it," Ginny said, hands on her hips, "if you'd just have the bloody thing properly neutered. Then none of us would be bothered by this little problem."

Harry glanced at the dog and tilted his head, considering. "No," he said with a slight frown, "I really couldn't do that. I quite like him as he is." He quirked his lips. "Idiosyncrasies and all."

The mutt - its gaze fixed on Harry as always, even while it humped the beanbag - slowly wagged its fluffy tail and let out a low, garbled whine, its eerie silver eyes almost pleading for something. There were moments when Ginny had to wonder about the exact nature of that dog. It seemed awfully intelligent at times, even for a familiar.

Harry shook his head. "C'mere, boy," he said, oddly enough checking his watch once more. "That's enough now. Here." He patted his knee.

Immediately the dog leapt up from the beanbag chair. Ginny got a horrible glimpse of its red penis hanging out of its furry sheath, gleaming wetly in the firelight; she cringed and turned her head away from the sight. The dog trotted to Harry and sat down by his knee, trembling as it leaned against Harry's leg, for once almost completely silent save for the sound of its heavy panting.

"There," said Harry, glancing up at Ginny while he retrieved his book and opened it to his marked page. "Better now, love?"

Ginny sneered at him and left them to it, her once-happy thoughts of spending an afternoon with her husband having long since evaporated.

One of these days, she thought, Harry was going to have to choose between her and that mutt - and she had the sinking feeling that the dog would win, hands down.


End file.
